Texas Christmas Bride: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Book 6 (5 page)

He would give them his heart either way, she knew.
Oh, David
… She wondered a little, but deep inside, she knew. David had grieved Jackson’s leaving, too. They’d been friends since babyhood. “Of course.”

“Yay!” Abby started skipping. “Ben! We get to be Gallaghers!”

Ben’s eyes darkened, and he stiffened. “We’re Butlers, Abby.”

“Ben!”

“We’re supposed to just forget Dad?” he shot back. Then he glanced at Jackson, his jaw mutinous. “He was Dad first.”

“He was,” Jackson acknowledged carefully and set her on her feet.

“You call Prince Daddy Dad,” Abby reminded her brother. “He’s your daddy now.”

If anything, Ben’s entire frame went more rigid.

Veronica ached for Jackson and Ben both. Ben had loved David with every fiber. He didn’t know his birth father half so well. They were doing fine together most of the time, but the footing was still rocky. “Ben—”

Jackson stilled her with a hand on her arm. “Maybe we should talk about this later?” he asked Ben.

Ben only nodded once, briskly, then turned and ran upstairs to his room.

“I’m sorry.” She saw Jackson’s jaw flex and grieved for how this must hurt. Bad enough another man had raised his child, but to have that child reject the opportunity to be claimed legally? “It’s—he’s—”

Jackson shook his head, but his expression broke her heart.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“No. Give him some space. I’m not forcing this on him. I have to earn it.”

She touched his arm in sympathy. The muscles were stone-hard with tension.

Maybe he needed space, too. “Girls, it’s time for your baths.”

“Is Ben okay?” Abby queried.

“He’s fine.” Veronica took her by the hand to lead her upstairs. She turned to reach for Beth, only to see her daughter standing by Jackson silently, holding onto his leg as if offering support. Jackson was staring down at the top of her blonde head, his big hand cradled protectively over her hair.

“We’ll be upstairs, Beth,” she said softly. With her eyes, she gave Jackson a kiss of comfort.

Chapter Two

A
s the last few customers trickled out, the cleanup began. Ian was waiting to take Scarlett home, bantering with Jeanette and Henry and Brenda while helping them out, turning chairs on top of tables so the dishwasher Pete could mop.

Weary and a little lightheaded, Scarlett pushed to get done sooner. Her feet hurt, her back ached and she was more than ready for bed. While sharpening her favorite knife, she lost her grip and grabbed for it. Pain struck, and she gasped. A thin red line of blood appeared on her palm. Her right palm. Her dominant hand. If she’d lost the use of it, even for a day, with all she had to accomplish—

For a second she couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes and focused on settling down her heart.
One…breath…one
…

“What the hell—” Instantly Ian was beside her, one arm sliding around her waist as he grabbed for her hand and turned the palm upward. He swore while reaching for a paper towel. “Brenda, the first aid kit—now!” he snapped.

He turned her in his arms. “You need to sit down. Hell, you need to forget about this place,” he growled.

Between her fears and his fury, she couldn’t settle the heart that was already pounding in double time.

“Ian, I—” Helplessly she batted at his hands. Sucked in air she couldn’t find. Wrenched herself from his arms when what she desperately wanted was to curl up there for week, months…forever. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She held up a hand to forestall all the concern being directed her way.

“You are not fine. Give me your hand.” When she didn’t immediately comply, his own was lightning-quick to seize hers. As he bent to clean the blood and bandage the wound, his voice was sharp. “You’re working too damn hard, and our baby—”

She covered her eyes with her free hand as hot tears formed. He was voicing her own terror. She desperately wanted this baby, but she’d promised Nana she would save Sweetgrass with this events center and she would, come hell or high water.

“Henry—” Ian barked. “You all finish it. I’m taking Scarlett home.”

She whirled on him. “Don’t! You’re part of the problem, don’t you see, Ian? You want me tucked away home, sitting in a rocking chair and—and—” She threw out her uninjured hand. “Knitting or—” Anger made her heedless. “I am not some delicate flower! Maddie has three children with one on the way, and she runs her cafe just fine! I am not helpless!”

The entire room had gone still. She and Ian disagreed at times, but never like this. Never…shouting. She could feel all their eyes on her.

That only made her more furious. “Don’t stop! We have too much to do—we—”

It was Jeanette who hazarded to approach her. “Scarlett, it’s okay,” she said calmly but without pity in her voice. Scarlett couldn’t tolerate pity. “You’re under a lot of pressure, but you’re not looking at the difference in your situations. Maddie is not trying to run two restaurants, especially not one with the unbearable burden of being the salvation of Sweetgrass. You’re carrying a much heavier load, and you need to face facts: it’s not necessary. Jackson’s bringing in business and jobs, and others will follow. It’s not all on you anymore.”

She looked Scarlett straight in the eye. “I know you and I don’t get along most of the time, but maybe that very thing will convince you I’m not saying this to be nice. You want the honest truth? It never was all on you. Sweetgrass has survived for a long time before you ever showed up.”

The rebuke stung. “But—” Scarlett glanced away. “I promised Nana. This is her dream.”

“You know that’s not true,” Jeanette snapped. “At least half of this is your ambition speaking. You’ve got your Paris-trained-chef superhero cape on when you think like that. You know good and well what Ruby wants most from you is to be here, to be healthy and happy…to
stay
, Scarlett. That’s it, the whole shebang: for you to stay. Not for you to singlehandedly carry Sweetgrass on your shoulders.”

Hurt and angry, Scarlett glared at Ian. “Did you put her up to this?”

He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t ask other people to fight my battles for me. You know that.”

She did know. Ian was the original knight in shining armor, the one who battled everyone else’s dragons. She knew—
knew
—how hard he’d been biting his tongue as day after day she battled morning sickness and fatigue, struggling to find some balance between all her commitments and the part of her that wanted to simply curl up in his arms and never leave. To focus on growing the baby she so deeply cherished.

But she’d promised Nana…and Nana needed her.

Then Brenda, little quiet as a mouse Brenda, of all people, spoke up. “Maybe the cafe could close at night. If breakfast and lunch were served here and dinner over there, we could all work both places instead of being split up.”

Scarlett had had the same thought. “But everyone in town counts on the cafe to be open for supper. Ruby’s Dream is going to be too high-end for their budgets.”

“Does it have to be?” Brenda asked.

Scarlett stared at the meek girl whose past was such a mystery.

She frowned. “We need people coming from Austin and San Antonio to make it work. To provide the market for the ranchers’ beef and the farmers’ organic produce.”

“But isn’t—” Brenda seemed to be summoning every last ounce of courage to argue. “Isn’t there a compromise? Can’t you let it grow from something small to something bigger and fancier later, if that’s what you want?”

“And who says Ruby’s Dream has to be open right away, anyhow?” Jeanette demanded. Her eyes narrowed. “You know who’s all bent out of shape over that. It’s not Ruby.”

“But—” She’d been so focused. She’d wanted it open in October. “I promised Jackson it would be here when he started bringing in employees, so they could see this wasn’t a cultural and gastronomic wasteland. Plus I told him I’d cater his company Christmas party.”

“Jackson can deal,” Ian said impatiently. “Hell, he’s got the money to fly in food, for that matter.”

“But that’s not the point—”

“What is the point?” he demanded. “How much farther do you have to push yourself to prove whatever the hell it is you’re trying to prove?”

“Ian, you don’t understand—”

“I understand plenty, first of which is I’m taking you home. Right this minute.” Without waiting for her to respond, he scooped her up and stalked out the door.

She sat across the truck from him, a study in stiff, silent misery. Those delicate shoulders that tried to hold up the world were hunched as if to protect herself from a blow. One pale, slim hand curved over the small bump that was their baby’s living cradle, and Ian couldn’t stand how much she was hurting.

Or the fact that he was the cause of much of it.

Time after time, words rushed to the tip of his tongue.
I’m not the enemy. You have to take better care of yourself. They don’t deserve you
.

Hell,
he
didn’t deserve her. But he had her, and he wasn’t letting go, by God.

At last he pulled up to the ranch house and parked. She remained staring ahead, no telling what was charging through that busy brain of hers. The woman barely slept, as it was. He couldn’t be robbing her of more rest by making her upset. But—

“Damn it—” He slammed a fist on the wheel. “This has to end.”

And immediately felt like crap as she lifted that small, courageous chin in defiance.

Protecting herself. Distancing herself.

From him.

“I’m sorry.” With a gust of resignation, he got out and walked around before she could step down. When he reached for her, she stiffened, and something inside him died. “I’m not the enemy, sweetheart,” he said gruffly as his voice tightened against the misery. “Please. Let me take you inside.” He waited, clearly ready to scoop her up but trying like hell to restrain himself, to let her choose, though everything inside him ached and growled and readied itself to battle all comers for her.

I don’t need a white knight, Ian
. How many times had she said that to him?

But you do, my love. Because you won’t protect yourself. You lay yourself on the line every damn day
…

He lost his patience and swept her up in his arms. Carried her inside and up the stairs with only a nod at his dad, who sat in the living room, reading.

Gordon’s brows lifted, concern on his features. As if asking if she was hurt.

With a quick shake of his head, determined not to stop their progress, Ian kept going. He would explain later. Right now, Scarlett was all he could see. All he could feel.

She perched in his arms, still stiff with resentment. He knew their battle wasn’t over—and damned himself for adding to her misery when all he wanted to do was help.

Inside their room, door pushed shut with one boot, Scarlett squirmed to get down, and he almost let her.

But distance was not what they needed. No walls thrown up to barricade them from the essential truth.

They loved each other.

But she was killing herself trying to prove her love to everyone. All the time.

So Ian kept a tight grip on her. “Hush now,” he said in the most soothing voice he could muster. He had to focus on being calm himself if he hoped to ever get her to settle down. She was stubborn as ten mules, and most times, that determination served her well. Made her capable of accomplishing more than whole groups of people combined.